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McShane leads the way as they venture towards old lucky locks before them. But with each step, her recent dreams rise up around her like so much clanking chains and chilly fingers.
"It's like a dream. No end and no beginning." murmurs the flaxen haired beauty.
"Say what." says Doctor Who from his tranquiller couch of despair.



It's too much for young Dorrie and she drops to the ground like a bride's nightie.
"Doctor! Do something!" cries the Brig.
"Oh feck off Waterhouse!" retorts mad old Doctor Who.



A few minutes later, Dorothy awakens from her slumber to find old Doctor Who being oddly rude.
"You've no more talent than a louse." notes the mighty Time Lord. "And as for you, Brigadier. Frankly you smell of cabbage."



"Now wait just a minute Mr Postman," begins the startled Briglet. But before he can plant a well deserved left hook on Doctor Who's glib jaw, the mighty Time Lord clutches his head in pain.
"My head hurts abominably Sarah Jane!" cries the disorientated Doc head.



Back in the Hawknest, the wise old Professor becomes aware of a throbbing in the interstitial waves of the Doctor's personal polarity vortex. "Someone is interfering with that meddlesome Time Lord!" deduces H. "The blocks in his memory must remain!"